


trouble follows

by Penguin_Lord



Series: Oregon Files: A Collection [4]
Category: Dirk Pitt & Related Fandoms, Dirk Pitt - Clive Cussler, The NUMA Files - Clive Cussler, The Oregon Files - Clive Cussler
Genre: Action/Adventure, Canon-typical shenanigans, First Meetings, Gen, The Author Regrets Nothing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-21
Updated: 2020-05-21
Packaged: 2021-03-02 17:48:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 12,807
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24300865
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Penguin_Lord/pseuds/Penguin_Lord
Summary: It was unfortunate that Eric’s one week of vacation, postponed after back-to-back sensitive missions, had turned out this way.Eric should have known that any working vacation he decides to take, especially one with NUMA, would go drastically wrong.
Series: Oregon Files: A Collection [4]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/402739
Comments: 1
Kudos: 6





	trouble follows

**Author's Note:**

> Yet again I write another story in the Clive Cussler NUMA/Oregon Files universe. In case anyone hasn't gotten the memo, Eric Stone is definitely my favourite character in this 'verse. It's been so long since I've read Flood Tide that I don't even remember how Cussler originally introduced us to the crew of the Oregon so forgive me for any inconsistencies. 
> 
> Also, I know next to nothing about ships, shipping, sea travel, submersible design, marine engineering, or how to fight hijackers.

It was unfortunate that Eric’s one week of vacation, postponed after back-to-back sensitive missions, had turned out this way. 

Eric’s plans had been foolproof. He spent the first three days with his mother and aunt in San Francisco. He hadn’t seen them in person in over a year. All their communication had been through secure video chats and phone calls. 

Due to the nature of his childhood, Eric had developed an unshakeable bond with his mother. Cynthia Stone (Stone being her maiden name; Eric had shed any connection to his birth father the first chance he got), all of five feet tall with short strawberry blonde hair, had a core of steel. After surviving the crucible of her marriage to Eric’s father, she had not let it break her. Instead, like forged metal, she took the strikes and let them make her stronger. After leaving her abusive husband, she went back to school and finally finished the nursing degree her former husband had forced her to abandon when they got married. 

Although he had long since flown the coop, Eric missed her warm hugs, the way he could smell just a faint hint of her favorite perfume. He spent those three days basking in her gentle embraces and boundless love. She helped ground him, reminding him who he was fighting to protect each time the Oregon got into trouble.

He spent three calming days with her and his aunt in their shared house in Northern California. But he couldn’t shake the feeling that trouble was brewing. He checked his phone constantly, on edge that something had gone wrong aboard the Oregon. 

No phone calls or texts from Juan or Max came. Mark Murphy texted him a couple times about trying to beat a couple levels in a new video game. Eric responded promptly and moved on. 

What came after was the real problem. 

He tried to tell himself he was being paranoid, but in hindsight, this experience might have proved that fate really was out to get him. 

During his years at the US Navy, Eric had made a couple of good friends. One of them, a Marine Engineer named Jeffrey Olmstead, had since left the Navy and taken a position at the National Underwater and Marine Agency, NUMA, designing new navigation and propulsion systems. They chatted occasionally. Eric would sometimes lend an ear or make a suggestion if Jeffrey ran into a problem he couldn’t solve. 

Jeffrey’s latest project was a new propulsion system on a new NUMA submersible. NUMA was running field tests off the coast of the Channel Islands in California for the next three weeks. After hearing that Eric would be on vacation for a week, Jeffrey extended the invitation to Eric to come along for a couple days, as a consultant. NUMA always had room for private researchers and consultants. 

Eric jumped at the chance to spend a couple days with Jeffrey. He was even itching to get aboard a NUMA ship. The Chairman, Juan Cabrillo, spoke with respect and fondness about many NUMA employees, including it’s Director, Dirk Pitt, and it’s Head of Special Operations, Kurt Austin. Eric, like most of the crew besides Max Hanley, had never met anyone from NUMA. But like all those involved in maritime affairs, he had a great deal of respect for one of the world’s foremost oceanographic research organizations.

So, after three days with family, Eric caught a red-eye flight down to Los Angeles. From there, he took the first available flight to Santa Catalina Island, the most populous of the Channel Islands. After landing, he hired a taxi to take him to NUMA’s dock facility at Two Harbors. 

The sun was just peaking up off the horizon when the taxi dropped him off outside a large dock. The sight that greeted him was barely controlled chaos. The ship, set to launch in a couple hours, was in the final throes of preparation. Half the crew was trekking back and forth from NUMA’s office on land, bringing the last pieces of equipment needed while the other half looked on as what looked like a large corvette was loaded onto the deck. 

Eric approached the chaos, a small duffle bag slung over his shoulder. He asked one of the crew members, a tall, tan man wearing a NUMA baseball cap, “Excuse me, but can you point me in the direction of Jeffrey Olmstead?”

“Sure. Jeff is over there by the crane, supervising with all the other mother hens.” The man pointed at the largest group of people standing around the dock crane which was loading the corvette onto the NUMA ship. These men and women looked more anxious than most. Eric spotted his friend in the group. Eric surmised this was the design team.

Eric thanked the man and headed over to the group. Jeffrey saw him approach and bounded over to him. 

“Eric!” He cried. “I’m so glad you could make it! It’s so good to see you; it feels like it’s been forever.”

“Jeffrey,” Eric greeted. “Thanks for the invite. I wouldn’t have missed it for the world.” 

They clasped hands and embraced. Jeffrey broke it. “Come on, let me introduce you to the rest of the team.” Jeffrey whistled sharply to catch the attention of the group. “Everyone, this is Eric Stone, the consultant I used to help with the propulsion systems. Eric this is everyone.”

“Real great introduction, Olmstead.” One of the men laughed. He was an extremely good looking man of Latin American descent. He could probably give MacD Lawless - who could have made a career out of modeling and the uncontested hottest man aboard the Oregon - a run for his money. Both men could have easily made the cover of Vanity Fair or GQ. “I’m Joe Zavala, the chief engineer for the Subvette Project. Thanks for all your help. Jeffrey showed me some of the schematics you helped on. Your idea to run the capacitors in parallel to offset the energy needed was a good catch.” 

“No problem.” Eric responded mindlessly, automatically meeting Joe’s outreached hand for a firm handshake. It took a couple moments to brush off his shock. He had heard of Joe Zavala, who had helped recover the diamonds they traded to Mufana for his help in stopping Jeffrey Merric’s kidnappers. He rallied quickly. “It’s nice to meet you. Thank you for allowing me to tag along for a few days.”

“When Jeffrey asked if you could spend some of your vacation on this boring milk run, I was sure you’d turn him down flat.” Joe quipped. 

Eric scratched his nose bashfully. “No way man. NUMA is an amazing organization. I wouldn’t pass up the opportunity to work with you guys, even if it’s just for a few days.” 

“If you ever need a job, NUMA would be more than happy to hire you.” Joe offered. “I’ve already seen your designs; you’d be more than welcome in the engineering department.” 

“Thanks,” Eric said. “But I really like the job I have now.”

“Don’t worry Joe.” One of the other men spoke up. He was younger than Joe with blonde hair and a southern accent. “We’ll keep working on him. I’m sure by the end of the week he’ll either run away screaming or never leave.” 

“This jokester is Jack Dahlgren,” Jeffrey introduced. “The other two gentlemen in the back are Oliver White and Les Higgins. These two lovely ladies are Rachel Saunders and Irene Atkinson.”

Eric shook hands all around, exchanging greetings and introductions. They kept chatting as the submersible corvette finished being loaded aboard, then while Zavala, Higgins, and Atikinson secured the underwater vehicle and White and Saunders left to go prep something below deck, Jeffrey showed Eric to the cabin they were sharing. 

They were underway two hours later, after waving goodbye to the family members and NUMA personnel that had come to see them off. Eric didn’t have anybody to wave to, but he enjoyed watching Santa Catalina fall away as their ship, the Albacore, headed out to sea. 

The Albacore was an ocean-going research vessel in the NUMA fleet. It was almost 250 feet in length, equipped with one fixed crane and one portable crane. It was manned by a permanent crew of 25. Usually it was deployed on coastal missions, like the fish it was named for. On this trip, it also supported researchers studying ocean temperatures, fish migration, and the submersible crew of 6, plus Eric. 

Six hour later, nearing mid-afternoon, the turquoise hulled ship reached a large open area of ocean west of Santa Catalina Island, far away from any shipping channels. It was the perfect place to test out the new submersible. 

Zavala introduced him properly to the submersible as they prepped for the first tests. “This is my baby. I call her the Subvette. Isn’t she a beauty?” The NUMA engineer ran a hand along the curve of the Subvette’s flank. He had a unique look on his face, three parts paternal and one part licenious. 

Eric covered his laugh with a cough. However he couldn’t help but admire her clean lines and innovative design. “She’s wonderful. How has she performed on other tests?”

A dark look came over Zavala’s face. “Not sure. I built her a couple years ago. I was going to run some tests off the coast of Turkey. Unfortunately, before we could complete them, she was Shanghaied into one of my buddy Austin’s schemes. She was injured in the line of duty, by some shady characters looking to restart the Ottoman Empire. This is the first opportunity I’ve had to take her out after I repaired her.” 

Higgins, working nearby on setting up some communications relays, nodded knowingly. “Sounds like Austin alright.”

“Just to be on the safe side,” Zavala confided mischievously. “I banned Austin from this outing. Didn’t want him to get any bright ideas.”

Higgins, White, and Atkinson laughed good naturedly. 

Eric was still caught up on Zavala’s story. Something Joe said niggled at the back of his head. It took him a couple seconds to find the connection. “The Jelegs? That was you?” 

Zavala was non-committal. “It was a group effort.” 

Something in Zavala’s guarded posture and shaded eyes reminded Eric of Juan when his boss did something particularly heroic. It was the look of a man who did not want to be thanked. To men like Juan, Zavala, and from what Eric had heard, the other men and women at NUMA, attention was unnecessary.

So Eric swallowed his questions. Instead he nodded once, respectively, to Zavala. “Thanks.” 

Zavala seemed to get Eric’s message. He responded with a small smile. “You’re welcome.”

* * *

From there they began systems checks of the Subvette. There were a series of tests the NUMA submersible team wanted to complete, to test the Subvette’s speed, turning, maneuverability, navigation, and propulsion.

Eric spent the next few days in marine engineering heaven. They worked in shifts, monitoring eagerly as the Subvette ran circles around the empty ocean. Aboard the Oregon, the world was so often in crisis. The productive but controlled days onboard the Albacore felt like a balm to his weary soul. 

Another major difference was the makeup of the crew. The Oregon was primarily made up of former military and intelligence officers, Eric included. Mark Murphy was the only notable exception. In comparison, the Albacore was a research vessel. The last time Eric had been in a research focused atmosphere was back in university, although even then it was colored by the unforgettable fact that it was the Naval Academy. Eric forgot how much he missed it. 

Although he would never trade the sense of accomplishment and duty to country and the world he felt aboard the Oregon, it was a pleasant change of pace, to relax in a friendly and intellectual environment. 

By the time the second night aboard rolled around, Eric had gotten to know a fair bit of the crew. He was formally introduced to the dark haired man of whom he had asked for directions from on the first day. He was surprised to find out that the man was none other than Dirk Pitt Jr., son of the NUMA Director. 

Dirk was aboard to collect samples for a long term ocean toxicity project NUMA was conducting, while his friend, Jack Dahlgren helped Zavala pilot the Subvette. Eric found the two men, both around his age, to be excellent company. Although Eric spent his time primarily with Jeffrey, he enjoyed the lively conversations he would have with Zavala, Dirk, and Dahlgren. They discussed the best ways to spend shore leave, compared favored hole-in-the-wall places in the ports they had visited, and bragged about the most hair-raising public transit systems they had been on. Dahlgren won, thanks to a ship leave visit to Thailand, where he had shared a scooter taxi with two other people and the driver. 

Eric thought about bringing up his connection to the Corporation to Zavala, or even Dirk. Jeffrey was unsubtle in his comments that Eric should drop his current job and work for NUMA. The others noticed and slowly joined in the teasing. It didn’t make him uncomfortable, because he knew what an asset his work was, but he couldn’t help but feel slightly disingenuous. 

After Eric brushed off another couched comment about NUMA’s employee benefits, Dirk asked unthinkingly, “Where do you work? I don’t think I ever heard.”

A few of the submersible engineering team were around, including Jeffery. Zavala and Dahlgren we’re down in the Subvette. Before Eric could answer Jeffery piped up, “He works on a cargo container. Talk about a waste of talent.”

The cargo container was the cover story Eric had told his friends and family when he got the job. Now however he couldn’t dispute it and make Jeffery suspicious. Eric decided to go with it. As much as Juan trusted Zavala, Austin, and Dirk Pitt, Sr. Eric knew how much an offhand comment, overheard by one of the crew, might one day endanger the Oregon. “Hey, don’t knock it. I get to go to some amazing places.”

The first two days went as well as could be hoped. There were a couple problems that popped up. The steering had an issue. Eric and Jeffrey had to do some tweaks to the side propulsion to boost performance by 37%. 

However, on the morning of the third day, Joe Zavala radioed up to the after only thirty minutes in the water. “Albacore, this is the Subvette Mark III. We have a problem down here.” 

Les Higgins got on the radio. “Subvette Mark III, this is the Albacore. What’s the problem, Joe?” 

“I’ve got a yacht down here. It looks like a fancy racing yacht, very recent too.” 

“A yacht?” Higgins asked dubiously. He consulted the nautical chart and looked at the records of shipwrecks in the area. “There isn’t any record of a yacht going down in this area.” 

“That’s what I thought. There are also two bodies down here.”

Eric’s heart sank. He traded worried glances with the rest of the Subvette engineering team in the conference-room-turned-Subvett-operations-headquarters. 

“Roger that, Subvette. I’ll get Captain Mason down here right away, then he can put a call in to the Coast Guard.”

“Good. I’m transmitting the footage to you now.”

One of the monitors, the one connected to the Subvette’s underwater camera, showed a scene clearly underwater. It had the same green cast ubiquitous to underwater footage.

Captain Steven Mason, a gruff older man with mutton chops peppered with grey, appeared at the door a couple minutes later, Atkinson trailing behind him.

“What’s going on?” The NUMA captain demanded.

No one answered verbally. Dahlgren, not in the Subvette for this run, pointed where everyone’s eyes were riveted to the footage of a sunken yacht. Zavala was just panning the Subvette’s camera over two figures trapped in the ship’s rigging. As the camera got closer everyone could tell with dreaded certainty the bloated forms had once been human.

Captain Mason blanched. To his credit, he took a few deep breaths but remained in control. “Give me the radio.”

Higgins handed over the radio. “Albacore to Subvette, this is Captain Mason. Joe are you there?”

Zavala’s response crackled back immediately. “I’m here, Captain.”

“Good. Listen, finish documenting the scene with the Subvette’s camera then come up. I’m going to contact the Coast Guard. We’ll wait for them to get here before we do anything else.”

“Roger that, Albacore. I’ll see you in a couple minutes. Zavala out.” 

Captain Mason signed off then rose to go to the Bridge, where the ship’s satellite phone was kept. “I’ll be back shortly.” He told the room. Eric heard him mutter, “If it’s not one thing it’s the other,” as the older man strode out the door.

Twenty minutes later Captain Mason returned, his posture weary. “The Coast Guard said they would send a ship out. It’s slated to arrive in six hours.” Mason announced. “I also called the office in Washington. Director Pitt is in the field right now, near Indonesia and so is currently unavailable, but I appraised Rudi Gunn of the situation. He said to sit tight and wait for the Coast Guard. Looks like we’re on hold for a while.”

After he left, the room broke out into nervous chatter. 

Eric thought that was the end of it. The Coast Guard would come, investigate, and they would be relieved to continue on with the test of the Subvette Mark III. 

If only things would have been that simple.

The first sign of something amiss was the approach of another ship. Eric was up in the Bridge. He had volunteered to accompany Zavala after the man had returned in the Subvette. Zavala wanted to brief the Captain on what he found and Eric was curious enough that he tagged along. 

“The yacht is called the Lobelia. It’s a racing yacht. Very sleek lines.” Joe informed the audience in the Bridge. Along with Captain Mason, two other crew, Eric, Dahlgren and Dirk listened to Joe’s briefing.

“A racing yacht, an extremely high end one at that.” The Second Mate, Nathaniel Durham commented. “Do you have any pictures, Joe?”

“Sure do. Here, let me put them on the big screen.” Joe quickly linked to the video footage the Subvette had recorded. In the video footage, the sleek lines of the hull and the name ‘Lobelia’ clearly evident on the stern. Closer inspection showed two corpses, both bloated from being underwater, trapped in the ship’s rigging. The video continued as the Subvette did a complete circle of the scene. 

Eric took in the video with a critical eye. “It’s strange. There’s nothing obvious to account for the yacht’s sinking. I don’t see any breaches in the hull.” 

The other three men looked closely at the video screen. 

“You’re right.” Captain Mason remarked. “I don’t see anything either. She looks pristine” 

“Except that she’s sitting at the bottom of the ocean.” Dirk said dryly. “And her crew is still aboard.”

“Do you think they got caught in the rigging and that’s why they couldn’t escape? They got pulled under and drowned?” Durham asked.

“It’s possible.” Zavala stroked his chin in thought. “But any experienced seamen would carry a knife and be able to cut themselves free. So why didn’t they? And how did they, and the Lobelia, end up on the bottom of the ocean?”

“That’s the million dollar question, Joe.” Dirk said. 

Durham spoke up, while scanning something hurriedly on a computer in front of him. “I just checked the marine database. It says that a racing yacht of that name and description was reported missing over a month ago while participating in the Volvo Ocean Race. ”

“I remember that.” A spark of recognition lit up Zavala’s face. “That was the Lobelia? I thought she went missing off the coast of Australia.” 

“That’s where her last known GPS coordinates put her and the race course should have taken her up to Micronesia. That’s over 8,000 miles away.” 

“This is getting stranger and stranger. A yacht that shouldn’t have sunk ends up in a place it should not be.” Dahlgren chimed in.

“We won’t know anything more until the Coast Guard does a full inspection.” Captain Mason responded. “They’ve asked us to hold off doing anything else until they get here.” 

Dahlgren pointed to something out the Bridge window. “Is that them?” A dot was out on the horizon, getting steadily closer. 

“It can’t be, we just called them less than an hour ago. No way they’ve gotten here that fast.” Captain Mason asserted. “The operator I talked to said they would have to send a ship from their base in San Diego. It shouldn’t get here for another five or six hours.” 

“Maybe there was a ship closer that they were able to divert? If it was coming back from another mission?” Eric reasoned. 

“I guess we’ll see. It looks like they’re heading in our direction.” Zavala gestured to the ship in the distance.

Slowly the dark spec on the horizon resolved into a medium sized tanker, twice the size of the Albacore. It was definitely not a US Coast Guard vessel. It was, however, billowing great plumes of black smoke.

The short range radio crackled. “May-day, may-day. Attention nearby vessel, this is the Pacific Star. There is a fire in our engine room. Evacuation eminent. We need assistance.” 

Captain Mason quickly picked up the radio. “Roger that, Pacific Star. This is the Albacore. Do you require fire fighting aid?”

“Affirmative, Albacore. We have a Class B and Class C fire in our engine room. We need any CO2 and foam extinguishers you have available. We’ve had to shut down our engine so currently we’re drifting. You’ll have to come to us.” 

“Roger, Pacific Star. We’ll approach and send over someone with all our fire fighting gear.” 

Durham was already at the wheel when Captain Mason signaled him to turn the Albacore towards the stricken vessel. 

“I’ll get the fire gear ready.” Zavala said as he headed out the door. 

Dirk, Dahlgren, and Eric raced after him. “We’ll help.” Dirk called. The four split up; Dahlgren led Eric to the fire extinguishers, Zavala disappeared down the stairs to acquire the ship’s supply of fire protective gear, and Dirk went to the ready one of the Albacore’s zodiacs.

Dahlgren grabbed the three CO2 filled fire extinguishers the Albacore had. Those were primarily used for Class C electrical fires. Eric picked up the two foam filled fire extinguishers, designed to combat Class B oil-base fires. The Pacific Star radio man hadn’t been clear on the layout of the fire, so they’d have to bring it all and hope whatever they brought could help. Fires aboard ships were notoriously dangerous because of the sensitive nature of the electrical systems and because escape from a vessel at sea was problematic, especially if escape routes or lifeboats were damaged by the fire. 

By the time the Albacore approached the Pacific Star, the four were ready and primed to take off. Captain Mason gave the signal once they were within a couple hundred meters of the troubled ship. 

The Pacific Star was a cargo ship. It looked to be around 300 meters in length. Besides the smoke rising from the stern and staining the sky, the vessel appeared in good shape. The hull was unmarked, the paint not chipped or fading. It was a curious dichotomy, the pristine hull below and the billowing black smoke above. 

Once the zodiac was in the water, Dirk started the engine and motored them over to the troubled ship. By this point the Pacific Star had stopped dead in the water. Dirk was able to steer their zodiac next to the Pacific Star, right alongside a lowered ship ladder. 

“Ahoy down there!” Shouted a voice from the deck. 

Eric craned his neck up. An older man of Latin American descent waved down to them. His English was lightly accented by a Spanish lilt. 

“Hello!” Zavala called back. “We brought five fire extinguishers and some of our protective fire gear. Do you have a way to get them up?”

“Yes we do. We’ve rigged up a bucket.” 

A large bucket dropped next to the ladder. The four rescuers loaded up their supplies and yanked on the rope in signal that the bucket could be pulled up. 

“Permission to come aboard?” Zavala yelled up once the supplies were on their way. 

“Of course!” the Pacific Star crew member responded. “Welcome aboard!”

Zavala climbed the ladder first, then Eric and Dahlgren as Dirk tied off the zodiac.

A small welcoming party waited for their arrival on deck. The older crew member who had called down to them stepped forward and introduced himself. “Welcome to the Pacific Star. My name is Captain Horatio Ortega. Thank you so much for your assistance.” 

Eric studied the man as Zavala introduced himself and the other Albacore crew members. Captain Ortega was an older man, heavy set with a tan complexion. His dark features and the Spanish accent spoke to his origins in Central or South America. He seemed genuine but something pinged Eric’s finely honed sense of danger, a sense Eric had cultivated through working for the Corporation.

Eric turned his attention to the rest of the crew. A surprising number were above deck, given the emergency that was happening below. They lingered at the edge of Eric’s sightlines. A couple peered out from behind one of the hatches. 

The crew’s appearance did not jive with Eric’s experience of shipboard crews. None of them looked worried or concerned. None of them were smoke stained or looked like they had encountered a fire. 

The sinking feeling grew when Eric noticed the fire fighting equipment they had sent up first was still on deck, still in the bucket they put it in below.

Before Eric could catch Dahlgren’s or Zavala’s attention, Dirk finished climbing up the ladder, and lept agily onto the deck. The Captain repeated his effusive thanks. 

“I’m glad we were able to help, Captain Ortega.” Dirk said, shaking hands with the older man. “Is there anything else we can do to help? What seems to be the trouble?” 

Captain Ortega’s friendly smile didn’t waver. “There is no trouble.”

“Pardon?” Dirk asked. The sinking sensation in Eric’s stomach grew. 

“I said, there is no trouble. Or rather, your crew will give us no trouble, now that we have hostages.” Captain Ortega turned to his second in command. “To the boats!” 

As soon as the Captain shouted his orders, the men that had been loitering around the deck moved with purpose towards the starboard side of the boat, out of line of sight. They must have had another ladder to lower because all too soon three high powered zodiacs emerged from behind the Pacific Star. They shot forward over the waves, headed straight for the Albacore. Eric caught a glimpse of the crews. Each zodiac carried four or five heavily armed men in dark clothing. Most were armed with assault rifles. 

Eric and the rest of the party from the Albacore watched with mounting horror as the Albacore was surrounded. The Albacore was a research vessel; there were no armaments aboard

“Now,” Ortega addressed his four captives. “Who on your ship pilots the submersible?”

“Who said anything about a submersible?” Zavala’s quick wit was the first to answer. “I think you’ve got the wrong ship. This is a crew of whale watchers.”

One of the crew members standing near Ortega reacted with lightning speed. He backhanded Zavala, sending the NUMA engineer to the ground. 

Zavala spat out a mouthful of blood. “Your interrogation tactics could use a little work, my friend. Don’t you know it’s easier to catch flies with honey, not vinegar.” 

“Your American phrases do not matter to me.” Ortega said. “Since you are being difficult I will ask you again, only this time I will add some incentive.” Before anyone could blink, Ortega pulled out his pistol, aimed it at Eric’s left shoulder and fired. 

Pain erupted. Eric’s vision blurred, starbursts erupting behind his eyelids. The helmsman gritted his teeth. A surprised, pained cry escaped him before he could clamp down on his jaw. Instinctually he brought his uninjured right arm up to brace the wound, trying to stop the bleeding. 

“If you do not answer me, it will be his head next.” Ortega warned. 

Zavala, helpless and angry, stared at Eric clutching his injured shoulder for a second then turned back to the Captain. “I’m the pilot and the Chief Engineer.” He spat out angrily. 

“Good. Very good. I knew you would see it my way. Eventually.” 

Once the Albacore was subdued, Zavala was escorted back to the NUMA ship with Captain Ortega. Eric, Dahlgren, and Dirk were roughly shoved below deck and into a cramped storage closet. One of the crew members threw in some bandages and a small plastic bottle of clear liquid in, then the door was locked behind them. 

After a moment of silence Eric hissed out, “Shit.” The pain was intense. The helms specialist collapsed against the bulkhead. He slid down to the ground, leaving a bloody smear on the wall behind him.

“Woah, there partner,” Jack Dahlgren cried out. Dahlgen caught Eric, propping him up. Dirk retrieved the bandages and bottle. 

Dirk opened the bottle and took a cautious sniff. “Rubbing alcohol.” He announced. “It’ll have to do.” 

Eric‘s lips twisted into a pained grimace. “Well at least they don’t want me to die.” He tried to sound upbeat but it was mostly just pained.

Dirk and Dahlgren worked together to help Eric remove his bloodied shirt. Dirk carefully examined the wound, looking at the front, then the back. “Good news is that it was a through-and-through.” 

“Bad news is that I’ve been shot.” Eric fired back. 

“That too.” Dirk said. “Don’t worry Stoney, we’ll have you wrapped up in no time.” His voice was confident and light.

“I hope this hasn’t soured you on NUMA,” Dahlgren chimed in. “I swear we only run into trouble like this 75% of the time. Everything else is smooth sailing.” 

“That’s comforting,” Eric joked. “Don’t worry. I’m used to it. The real question is, how’s the hazard pay?”

“The best in the business.” Dirk assured Eric. 

They kept throwing banter back and forth to distract Eric as they disinfected the wound with the rubbing alcohol. The pain was excruciating; to Eric, it seemed worse than when the bullet tore through his flesh. Still, Eric gritted his teeth and held onto his composure through sheer force of will.

Dirk and Dahlgren finished disinfecting and wrapping the wound with the bandages. Dirk cast a critical eye at his work. “It’s the best we can do in these conditions. Obviously this needs to be professionally looked at, but that’s not going to happen until we can deal with Ortega and his men.” 

“Who the hell are these jokers?” Dahlgren asked into the dimly lit closet. 

“Not sure,” Eric answered grimly back. “But I’d bet dollars to donuts that it has something to do with that yacht we just found.” 

“You think?” Dirk asked.

“What else can it be? They obviously wanted Joe to pilot the submersible.” Eric’s voice was steady but colored by pain. “That’s the only way they can access that yacht.”

“I agree.” Dahlgren added his two cents. “But this is a big risk. We’re well within the territorial border for the United States. No pirate in their right mind is going to go after a US government vessel on our doorstep. This is the Navy and Coast Guard’s backyard.”

“The hijackers are desperate,” Dirk surmised. “They probably have been sitting on the yacht but when they intercepted our call to the Coast Guard they panicked.” 

“Now how do we get out of this mess?” Dahlgren tested the door. It has solid metal, unyielding to Dahlgren’s attempts. “This door isn’t moving.” 

“And when we do get out, what next?” Dirk asked. “There’s three of us and who knows how many hijackers. They’ve also got the Albacore under control.” 

Eric used his uninjured right hand to fish out a small slim black leather case out of an ankle holster. “I think these may help us escape.” He presented the other two fellow captives with a small lock-pick set. Franklin Lincoln had given it to Eric after teaching the younger man to pick locks a while back. In return, Eric had gotten Linc tickets to a Beyoncé concert by tweaking the ticket page. The concert sold out in minutes but Lincoln still got front row seats. 

Eric considered the problem. “If I were in charge of the hijacking, I’d send most of my team to capture the Albacore.” Eric contemplated. 

“That seems likely.” Dahlgren seconded. 

“Those boats held at least sixteen men, maybe eighteen. Add in Ortega and his goons on deck. A ship of this size would normally be run by under ten people. They probably have these extra men to retrieve whatever it is they’re after, but they didn’t look like trained soldiers. I bet they have a couple people staying aboard the Pacific Star to keep watch, but nothing more than a skeleton crew.” 

“Yeah,” Dirk agreed. “I’ll buy that. That means they’ll be easy to take down, if there’s not many of them.” 

“The problem will be finding them.” Dahlgren played Devil’s Advocate. “There will probably be a couple on the Bridge for sure, but there could be more lurking below deck, with radios. If they alert Ortega and the Albacore then our element of surprise will be ruined.”

“Leave that to me.” Dirk said with an easy grin.

“Oh boy.” Dahlgren groaned. “Here we go again.” 

* * *

Eric used his hard earned skills with the lock picks to get the trio out of their storage closet confinement. Cautiously they opened the door a crack, listening for footsteps or voices in the hallway. Hearing none, they opened the door a bit further, enough to look left and right down both ends of the corridor. The coast was clear. 

Dirk and Dahlgren exited first. Given Eric’s injured state, it seemed prudent to let the two able-bodied men take the lead. Slowly they retraced their steps to the outer door. 

Their luck held. No one was on deck and they were facing away from the Albacore. Their path to the bridge, located two floors above their current position and further astern, was equally clear.

After slowly and cautiously ascending the two sets of stairs, Dirk, Dahlgren, and Eric crouched under one of the doors to the bridge. Dirk rose slightly, just enough to peer into the bridge through a porthole-style window. 

“There are two men in there, one near the radio, the other looking out to the Albacore.” Dirk reported.

“Okay genius, now explain to us your brilliant plan,” Dahlgren demanded teasingly. “It better be a good one, otherwise the guy at the radio will contact Ortega.” 

Dirk quickly explained his plan to draw one of the hijackers out. He found one of the power cables to the bridge hidden behind a panel and began to play with it, flickering the lights and electricity in the bridge. 

Dahlgren was keeping watch through the window. “They’ve definitely noticed your brilliant plan. The one at the radio is talking to the other guy. Looks like he’s ordering him to go check it out.”

Dirk, Eric, and Dahlgren hid further down the hallway, near the control panel. They laid in wait for the hijacker and then ambushed him. Between the three of them, even with Eric moving more gingerly than normal, they disarmed and subdued their captive. 

A professional this hijacker was not. He cracked quickly and told them he and his partner were the only hijackers left on the Pacific Star. 

The other hijacker was lured out of the bridge by a fake radio call and quickly disabled. 

Dahlgren found a satellite phone in one of the drawers. The marine radio wouldn’t work this far out, plus it could be overheard by the Albacore. 

Dirk called the Coast Guard station and appraised them of the situation. In turn they radioed their cutter which had been dispatched after the Albacore’s original call about the sunken yacht had gone through. The USCGC Kennesaw was two hours out. Dirk, Dahlgren, and Eric were on their own until then. 

“Waiting for the Coast Guard might be cutting it a little close.” Eric commented somberly once they hung up the satellite phone. 

“I think you’re right.” Dahlgren said. He was looking across to the Albacore through a pair of binoculars. 

During the time when they had been imprisoned in the storage closet, the Pacific Star had moved so it was approximately 50 meters off the port side of the Albacore. Dirk picked up another pair of binoculars, while Dahlgren handed his pair over to Eric. All three studied the situation. 

“The Subvette is down.” Eric announced. “But it looks like they’ve already taken a couple trips back and forth. There are some crates on the deck that weren’t there before.” 

“They’ve got the crane out.” Dirk agreed. “There must be something on the yacht they want and they didn’t want to let the Coast Guard get it.” 

“How much more do they have to unload?” Dahlgren asked aloud.

“It can’t be that much more.” Eric responded, thinking back to the video Zavala had taken of the twin hull catamaran racing yacht. “You two saw the video. The Lobelia did not have much room. Frankly I’m amazed these crates fit on the yacht. I don’t think Joe and Captain Mason have much time left.”

* * *

Dirk, Dahlgren, and Eric decided their best option was to get back to the Albacore, rescue their crew and take back the NUMA ship by force. 

They snuck aboard using some diving gear they found on the Pacific Star. Swimming a couple meters below the water meant their approach was undetected. They snuck aboard one by one along the starboard side of the Albacore, away from the aft end where most of the hijackers congregated around the crane. 

The hijackers were unprofessional. It was easy enough to sneak past and disable the few they came across. They had evidently assigned only two or three men to patrol the ship, confident in their successful takeover. 

The crew had all been locked in two storage rooms, normally filled with crates of scientific equipment. Dirk had heard their banging as the three crept through the ship. No guards were posted to watch the prisoners. 

“These guys really need to work on their villany skills.” Dahlgren joked as Eric knelt down to pick the first lock. “They left the front door wide open for us.”

“I’m embarrassed for their sake. It’s a disgrace.” Dirk agreed. 

“Don’t be too tough on them,” Eric muttered, barely managing the constant dull throb of his shoulder. “They made it this far, didn’t they? ” 

Eric’s lockpicking skills released the crew from their confinement.

Captain Mason was held in the second storage room. “Dirk! Jack! Eric! Thank god you’re all okay.“

“A little worse for the wear, but we’re still hanging in there.” Jack nodded to Eric’s bandaged shoulder. Blood had long since seeped through. The salt water did not help.

Jeffery pushed through the crew and started examining Eric’s shoulder. “Shit man, what happened?”

“The hijackers needed leverage.” Eric grimaced. “But we can’t deal with my shoulder until we take the ship back.”

“Right you are,” Captain Mason agreed. “Do you have a plan?”

Dalrgin and Dirk distributed the excess guns they had liberated from the hijackers they had taken down thus far (six so far, including the two from the Pacific Star). 

By the time they were prepared to confront Ortega, the hijackers had loaded all but the final object on deck into the zodiacs.

One hijacker was operating the crane, preparing to retrieve the final object Zavala had finished bringing up from the yacht. Two hijackers stood by, waiting to load the last zodiac, while two others were loitering around, scanning the parts of the ship they could see. Those two were probably looking for their missing crew, numbering five by now. The rest of the hijackers were already on the zodiacs, waiting to cast off. Captain Ortega stood off to the side, barking out orders.

Dirk and Captain Mason led two groups of crew members along the starboard and port sides. They crouched, waiting for an opportune moment to catch their targets off guard. Captain Mason gave the signal and then they struck. 

Captain Mason had been watching and he planned the attack for when the hijackers on deck were distracted as the final retrieval, a medium-sized crate about the size of a washing machine, was lowered by the crane. 

Eric stayed back, nursing his shoulder. He took a place on the upper deck. His injury made him a liability in a fight, but it didn’t take away his aim. The pistol he was holding was certainly not a sniper rifle, and he wasn’t a sniper the way MacD was with his crossbow, but he had excelled at marksmanship at the Navy Academy. While the others focused on the hijackers on deck, Eric set his sights on the zodiacs. 

The men aboard had noticed the fight by now and were readying their weapons to engage. Before they could, Eric took a deep breath and meticulously fired four magazines worth of bullets at the three zodiacs. He calmly aimed, fired, and reloaded until the tough hull. Even the military-grade hull, designed to withstand punctures, could not withstand Eric’s carefully aimed bullets. He used his knowledge of the Oregon’s RHIB to aim for all the different sections of air. 

The boats began to sink. Most of the men could swim and began to swim for the Albacore or the Pacific Star. However all of them were forced to shed their assault rifles. 

They wouldn’t be a problem for the Albacore. 

And the crates they had worked so hard to retrieve sunk back to the bottom of the ocean. 

* * *

The confrontation with the hijackers seemed like it was over in minutes. By the end of it, two of Ortega’s men were dead, four of the Albacore’s crew had minor injuries (including Eric’s shoulder), and the USCGC Kennesaw was just visible over on the horizon.

After the hijackers were taken care of, locked in one of the empty holds in their own vessel, Captain Mason updated the Coast Guard of their status via handheld radio. Then he called NUMA headquarters. 

Eric was barely holding it together. His gunshot wound was throbbing and bright red had long since soaked through the bandages. Thankfully the arrival of the Coast Guard vessel Kennesaw meant access to their shipboard doctor and superior medical wing. Jeffery and Higgins helped Eric across to the Kennesaw once the boarding ramp was put in place to connect the two ships. 

Later, the young helmsman would barely remember being escorted down to the ship’s medical wing. All he could remember was a sharp sting in his arm and the gentle lulling darkness that enveloped him. 

* * *

Awareness came back slowly to Eric. The first thing he was aware of was that he was laying down on something soft. Then it was the dull throb in his shoulder, a welcome relief to the previous pain. The gentle rocking of the ship and the low rumble of a ship’s engine threatened to lull him back to sleep.

Eric’s first cohesive thought was that Juan and Max were never going to let him leave the Oregon again. 

It made him groan.

“Eric!” Jeffrey's voice cried. “You’re awake.”

“Barely.” Eric groaned. 

“Hold on, let me get Dr. Garcia.” 

Eric didn’t open his eyes, but he could hear someone run off. Two sets of footsteps returned and Eric finally pried his heavy eyelids open. 

His friend, Jeffrey, stood side-by-side with Dr. Inez Garcia. Dr. Garcia turned out to be the USCGC Kennesaw’s Chief Medical Officer. She had a stern countenance that was softened by the laugh lines around her eyes. She was older, with a hint of grey in her dark brown hair. The experienced CMO wasted no time checking up on his health. She performed tests Eric recognized as standard across the medical profession from his experience with Dr. Huxley aboard the Oregon. Jeffrey hovered to the side anxiously. 

While Eric mindlessly complied with Dr. Garcia, he tried to smile at his friend. “It looks that bad, does it?”

It seemed like Jeffrey had been just waiting for a trigger to unload. 

“Jesus, Eric. You look awful. When Zavala came back with Ortega and said you got shot I was so worried. I am so sorry I got you into this mess. I can’t believe-”

“Hey, Jeffrey.” Eric tried to calm down his friend. Jeffrey was clearly shouldering an unfair burden. It was not his fault the Albacore had been the target of hijackers. “It’s okay man. I’m tougher than I look. Remember what I looked like after those training exercises at Great Lakes? I feel ten times better now than after those hellish weeks.”

Jeffrey laughed lightly and unwound as the memories washed over him. “Sure yeah I do. I thought you were going to keel over, regardless of Commander Chadwick.” 

“Exactly. This is nothing. Besides, Dr. Garcia is doing a fantastic job putting me back together.” 

The Coast Guard doctor finished her examination in time to chime into the conversation. “This was certainly not nothing, Mr. Stone. From what your Mr. Pitt and Mr. Dahlgren told me, there is a serious risk of infection from your wound. I’ve already started you on antibiotic treatment. You’ll be on that until there’s no risk of relapse.”

She held a hand to forstall his protests. “I heard the briefing from Mr. Pitt and Mr. Dahlgren so I know it was not your fault. You three saved many lives with your timely rescue. Nevertheless, without the proper medical care, your wound could have turned fatal. Thankfully that’s not the case. You’re on the mend. The bullet missed anything serious. All that’s left is to keep taking the antibiotics and immobilize your arm as we wait for it to heal on its own - probably three to six weeks.”

“Thank you so much, Dr. Garcia.” Eric was profuse in his thanks. Working with Dr. Huxley and her medical team had taught him to have great respect for any medical professionals. Eric glanced around at his surroundings, taking them in for the first time. “Am I aboard the Kennesaw?”

“Yes, you are.” Dr. Garcia started to gather her equipment. “We’ve been alongside the Albacore and the Pacific Star for approximately 25 hours. The local time is 4:37 pm Pacific Standard Time.”

She bid them farewell, returning to her office.

Eric turned to Jeffrey. “Are you alright? The hijackers didn’t hurt anyone aboard the Albacore, did they?”

Jeffrey was quick to assure him that everyone else aboard the Albacore was safe. The hijackers had taken over the Albacore swiftly, without any blood being shed. They were more focused on retrieving four crates from the wreck of the Lobelia than anything else. They sent Zavala down in the Subvette with one of the hijackers as insurance while they imprisoned the rest of the crew.

“What happened after we took back the ship? I wasn’t really functioning at full cylinders.” Eric admitted. He’d been hazy after the adrenaline had worn off. 

Jeffrey started to talk but was interrupted by the arrival of Zavala, Dahlgren, and Dirk. 

“Scuttlebut on the ship was that you were awake.” Zavala said to Eric. 

“I was out for a while, wasn’t I?” Eric asked rhetorically. “Joe, you made it out okay?”

“Oh, yeah,” Zavala assured him. “They couldn’t damage their only submersible pilot.”

“That’s good.” Eric breathed a sigh of relief. 

“You’re the only one seriously injured.” Dirk revealed. “Everyone else got off with bumps and bruises. We were worried there when you passed out on Dr. Garcia.”

“Dr. Garcia said I’m out of the woods now.” Eric motioned to his wrapped shoulder. “She’s going to prescribe me some antibiotics, but all I really need is rest.”

“How long until you’re fully recovered?”

“Three to six weeks.” 

“Listen, Eric.” Zavala’s normally flippant tone was serious. “You are one cool customer. You were shot and still performed a stealth assault and managed a crack shot to sink three of their zodiacs and disable most of the hijackers. We would have been screwed if we would have had to deal with their full contingent.” 

Eric flushed. The irony of this interaction was almost too much to handle. Just a couple days ago, he had tried to offer thanks to Zavala for a similar heroic deed; now he was the one trying to brush off the thanks. He really wasn’t used to dealing with such blatant thanks. Given the secrecy surrounding the Corporation, the Oregon rarely received accolades. Even then, in a crew of heroes, Eric did not stand out. He did his part and didn’t look for extra thanks. 

“It was nothing.” The bashful helmsman tried to wave off. “Just another day in the life.”

Thankfully, Zavala seemed to understand. He let the matter drop. “Regardless, you’ve really impressed us here at NUMA. I know I’ve said it before, but if you’re ever in need of a new job, we’d be happy to have you.” 

“Thank you.” Eric said with genuine warmth. “I really appreciate that. But I’m happy with where I am.”

“I can respect that.” Zavala said. 

“Speaking of,” Eric asked, desperately nonchalant. “Can you find me a phone? I need to make a phone call.”

“Got a girlfriend? Need to let her know you’ve got a new battle scar?” Jeffrey teased mercilessly.

“Nope, just a demanding boss.” Eric countered. He wasn’t sure how he was going to tell the Chairman about this latest debacle. Juan wasn’t so much demanding as he was overprotective, but Eric wasn’t going to share that with the NUMA crew. “I’m guessing the Coast Guard isn’t going to let us go in time for the end of my leave so I need to let him know.” 

“You’re probably right.” Dirk agreed. “You should have heard the racket my boss made when I told him we would be delayed.”

“Hey, mine too!” Zavala added with a mischievous gleam in his eye. 

Dahlgren shook his head. “That’s because your bosses are your father and best friend, respectively. “They’re more upset about trouble finding you again than project delays.”

“Guilty.” Dirk laughed. “After everything, Dad thought a couple relaxing weeks off the coast of California would be safe enough. Guess he was wrong.”

“Wherever you go, trouble follows.” Dahlgren shot back. “My NUMA assignments sans members of the Pitt family are never half as exciting as the ones with a Pitt.”

“What can I say? Trouble and I are friends. I’m getting used to him.”

“Speaking of the boss man, what did Pitt have to say?” Zavala steered the conversation back to the NUMA Director. 

“Sounds like he and Austin are worried about our ability to even make it back to port safely. They’re flying out and will be here tomorrow morning.”

“That’s what Kurt said,” Zavala affirmed. “Maybe we can get the bosses to work on Eric.”

The gentle ribbing continued until Dr. Garcia returned and threatened to kick them all out for disturbing her patient. 

The NUMA men left, though Jeffrey came by later to drop off the satellite phone.

Eric gingerly picked the thing up, like it was a snake ready to bite. A sinking feeling entered the pit of Eric’s stomach. 

He slowly entered Juan’s cell phone number and, gingerly, grudgingly, pressed the dial button. Juan answered on the third ring. So guarded was The Chairman’s personal number Juan answered the phone in disguise. “Crabby’s Tackle and Bait Shop. How may I help you?”

Eric gave his personal identification code.

Juan’s voice came back, no longer pretending to be the proprietor of a bait shop. “Eric, is that you? You’ve still got one more day of vacation left.”

“Actually, Juan, that’s why I’m calling. I won’t be able to make it back by the end of my vacation. Something came up.”

* * *

The next morning, his eyes still crossed from the interrogation Juan put him through, Eric had the pleasure of meeting Dirk Pitt, Sr. 

Pitt, along with his Kurt Austin, arrived on the Coast Guard cutter, the USCGC Leigh Hunt, which had arrived to support the Kennesaw as the Coast Guard worked to untangle the whole mess. Soon after arriving he called a debriefing in the ship’s board room. Eric was invited to attend.

The elder Dirk Pitt looked very much like his son, just aged a couple decades. They had the same dark brown, wavy hair, the same piercing sea-green eyes, the same adventurous and mischievous spirit which could not hide their steely confidence and competence. 

“It’s good to meet you, Eric.” Pitt said as he offered a calloused hand to shake. “Dirk has said what a help you were with the hijackers.” 

“It’s nice to meet you too, Director Pitt.”

“Please, call me Dirk.” 

Eric’s lips twisted into a mischievous smile. “That could get a little complicated.”

Pitt laughed heartily. “You have me there. The hazards of having the same name. You can call me whatever you want, just not Director Pitt. It makes me look over my shoulder, looking for a paper-pushing bureaucrat who’s come to impress me back into service to my desk in Washington.” 

“Yes, sir.” Eric agreed. 

Eric watched the NUMA director chat casually with the crew for a few minutes. Then, after the ice was broken, Pitt’s countenance turned serious. “Right. Dirk and Joe have given me a general overview of what happened, but I want to hear the full report. Captain Mason, you first.” 

Although Pitt’s posture was relaxed, Eric could tell what this was - a professional debrief. Pitt listened to Captain Mason first. The crew of the Albacore had all been surprised by the three gunboats coming at them at high speed from the Pacific Star. Since there were no weapons aboard the Albacore, and with Zavala, Dirk, Dahlgren, and Eric on the enemy vessel, Captain Mason was forced to surrender quickly to the forgein invaders. The men, dressed in black, and carrying assault weapons, had then forced the crew into the two empty storage rooms. 

Pitt nodded in understanding. “You made the right decision, Captain. The crew’s lives should always take precedence.” 

Captain Mason nodded.

Pitt looked to Zavala next. “Joe, let’s hear your report. What did the hijackers tell you they wanted on the Lobelia?”

Zavala took over the story. “Eric, Dirk, Jack, and I went over with firefighting equipment. That was their ruse to get us over to their ship. After we got aboard they wouldn’t take no for an answer. They shot Eric in the shoulder when we refused to tell them who the submersible pilot was. I said it was me and they escorted me back to the Albacore.

“The guy in charge, Captain Ortega, said they were looking for four crate on the Lobelia. He sent one of his goons down in the Subvette with me so I couldn’t sabotage the crates. Getting them out wasn’t too hard. They were right on deck, strapped down. Must have been recent additions to the manifest. I brought up all four, had just finished unloading the fourth crate when Dirk and Jack took back the ship. I was able to use the element of surprise to grab a gun from my goon babysitter. He wasn’t all that bright, for all that he came heavily armed.” 

“That’s the general consensus I’m getting,” Pitt agreed. “What about you, Dirk? How did you, Jack, and Eric, manage to take back the Albacore?”

Dirk gave an abridged version of their escape from the Pacific Star, giving most of the credit to Eric’s lock picks. “The hijackers were overconfident and sloppy,” Dirk finished. “We could have managed it, but their lax discipline certainly helped.” 

“Thank goodness for subpar bad guys,” Pitt joked with his son. “It’s something all our villains should aspire to.” 

“I wouldn’t complain,” Austin remarked quietly from beside Eric. Eric didn’t say anything but he agreed with the NUMA people. He wished all their enemies would be as easy to take down as these jokers, gunshot wound to the shoulder aside. 

“What were these guys after?” Dalhgren piped up. “Was the Coast Guard able to retrieve those crates that Eric sank?” 

Pitt glazed at Eric and the younger man felt caught by those intense sea green eyes. Eric only relaxed when the NUMA Director looked back down at the memo in front of him. “Yes, the crates. The Coast Guard just got around to retrieving the last of them. They haven’t had time to be formally analyzed but it appears like they contain an altered strain of cocaine, some new designer drug. One of my contacts in the DEA said this thing has been creeping slowly into the US and they haven’t been able to tell where who’s dealing it, let alone where it’s coming from.”

“Curious that it’s on the Lobelia to begin with.” Captain Mason remarked. 

“True.” Pitt said. “But I for one am glad this is something I can firmly file under ‘Not My Job’.” 

Pitt studiously ignored Zavala’s whispered, “Until Sandecker swoops in an makes it our job.”

“The Coast Guard, DEA, and ATF have this well in hand. We have enough on our plates as it is.” 

Everyone at the table nodded in agreement. The meeting broke up soon after. 

* * *

Three days later, the Albacore sailed into port, welcomed home by a larger contingent than normal.

The press had been given the story, required by federal standards on the public release of information, but thanks to the quick thinking of Rudi Gunn, Director Pitt, and Captain Flavel aboard the Kennesaw, the Albacore docked at a private Coast Guard facility. This had the benefit of keeping the most of the press at bay, but allowing families to reconnect with their loved ones.

The normal crowd of families was bolstered by the presence of law enforcement and Coast Guard officers. The Albacore’s crew had been released by the Coast Guard investigators, so they streamed off the NUMA vessel, eagerly swept into the waiting arms of husbands, wives, and other family members.

Among the throng of excited families, one extra man stood on the outskirts. He waited for the crew to disembark, searching through the crowd for his quarry. Eventually the crowd thinned as people left in twos and threes but still there was no sign of his intended target.

Finally, after all ashore who were going ashore had disembarked, the man casually, but purposefully strolled up the gangplank, onto the Albacore. He was dressed in non-descript tan slacks, a blue polo shirt, and a black windbreaker. Although none of his clothes displayed emblems, and nor did he have any identification, no-one stopped him from boarding the Albacore. His easy confidence and sure feet made his appearance on the Albacore feel natural, expected. 

He quickly surveyed the people on deck once he reached the top of the gangplank. The Coast Guard officers had disembarked with the Albacore’s crew and visiting scientists. The only people who remained were a motley group of men clustered around a submersible shaped like a Corvette. 

Juan Cabrillo quirked an eyebrow at Joe Zavala’s unique design. He had heard about the Subvette from Eric briefly, during Eric’s phone call to the Chairman a couple days ago, but it was rather bizarre to see the car’s shape in submersible form. 

The Oregon’s Captain spied Dirk Pitt, Sr., the NUMA Director and an old acquaintance in the crowd, as well as Zavala, Austin, and a younger man who must have been Pitt’s son, Dirk, given the remarkable family resemblance. He searched the faces but did not see his wayward helmsman among them.

Juan decided to announce his presence. “Permission to come aboard?

Dirk Pitt Sr. turned sharply in surprise, Austin and Zavala not far behind, all three having recognized Juan’s voice. 

“Juan Cabrillo, what the hell are you doing in my neck of the woods?” The NUMA Directo asked, part fond, part suspicious. “But of course, welcome aboard.” 

Juan stepped onto the Albacore’s deck, hedging the question. “Oh I was in the neighborhood and I heard your crew got themselves into a spot of trouble. Everyone’s alright, I take it?” 

“Nothing we couldn’t handle.” Pitt rallied quickly, shaking off his shock to greet Juan with a firm handshake. “This is a surprise. It’s good to see you, Juan.” 

“You too, Dirk.” Juan returned the gesture. “I was already going to be in the area to pick up something of mine. I heard you flew in and thought I would pay my respects in person. It’s been a long time.” 

“That it has.” Pitt agreed. “You remember Kurt Austin and Joe Zavala, right?” 

Austin and Zavala came over to offer their own set of greetings. Juan took great pleasure in reacquainting himself with the two Special Assignments men. He had met the two men before, once in the middle of the African desert, when they had volunteered to locate an old steamer ship buried by a coast-changing sand storm, carrying millions of dollars worth of smuggled, uncut diamonds, and then again during a gun fight in the middle of a warehouse owned by the Maltese Archaeological Museum.

“This is a much more hospitable place than the last place we saw you, Chairman.” Austin commented as they shook hands. 

“What can I say? I go where I’m needed.” Juan responded with a smirk. “I must say, Joe, that is a fine looking submersible you’ve got there.”

“You like her?” Zavala pumped Juan’s hand with enthusiasm. “She’s a beauty, isn’t she? Steers like a dream.” 

Pitt interrupted before Zavala could talk Juan’s ear off about the Subvette. “Let me introduce you to the rest of the crew. Have you met my son Dirk?”

“No, I haven’t had the pleasure.” 

“Dirk, Jack, Steven, this is Chairman Juan Cabrillo. He runs a corporation that helps the US government on occasion, when they need backup in one form or another. Juan, this is my son, Dirk Pitt, his friend and fellow NUMA engineer, Jack Dahlgren, and Captain Steven Mason, the Captain of the Albacore.” 

Juan stepped forward to shake hands with the young man who was the spitting image of the NUMA Director. “It’s nice to meet you, Dirk.”

“Likewise, Chairman Cabrillo.”

Juan also shook hands with Dahlgren and Captain Mason. “It’s a pleasure to meet you gentlemen. Captain, I’m sorry for dropping by unannounced. I heard Director Pitt was coming in person to coordinate efforts to deal with some hijackers and thought I should pay my respects.”. 

“Not a problem, Chairman Cabrillo. Any friend of Director Pitt’s is a friend of mine.” 

“Much obliged.” Juan turned his attention back to the Subvette. “So Joe, tell me about this wonderful lady.” 

“Isn't she just?” Zavala asked rhetorically. “Well, as you can see, I modeled her after the classic Corvette. I wanted to keep the shape, but that meant moving the engine and propulsion parts away from their normal cowling at the rear of the vessel. The ballast tanks also presented a problem. Obviously they would completely ruin the aesthetic of the design if I stayed true to the normal cylindrical shape.”

“Obviously.” Juan agreed unironically. Listening to Joe Zavala talk about his Subvette was like listening to Max wax poetry about the Oregon’s engines. It brought a smile to his face. 

Joe rhapsodized some more about the Subvette’s unique design. Juan asked a couple of questions, but one question from Dahlgren pulled the conversation towards the tests that had been interrupted by the discovery of the Lobelia. 

Pitt took advantage and neatly steered Juan away from the rest of the group to a secluded section of deck. 

“What are you really doing here, Juan?” Pitt asked in a low undertone. 

“What? Me?” Juan asked in his most innocent voice. “You don’t believe me?” 

“Not a chance. You don’t show up out of the blue.” 

“That’s normally true. But this really is a courier mission, albeit for a special cargo. I don’t necessarily trust what I’m picking up not to get waylaid. I came to make certain it would make it back to the Oregon.”

“Sounds like a pretty important package.”

“Most certainly. But it’s not dangerous at all, just exceptionally hard to replace, so you don’t have to worry about your crew.”

“That’s a relief. They get into enough trouble on their own.” 

Juan cast a glance at the deck of the Albacore, still in disarray from the hijackers. “Any idea what they were after?”

Pitt answered. “Yeah we do. They had Zavala retrieve four crates from the wreck of a racing yacht. Three of the crates were consequences of our rescue; the Coast Guard are still on site retrieving them. The last one contained drugs. Some new designer form of cocaine.”

“A racing yacht? My source said it was the Lobelia, which disappeared during the Volvo Ocean Race. That’s a fancy cover for some drug runners.”

“Your source?” Austin grinned. “Do tell.”

“Sorry, that’s need to know.” Juan said coyly.

“Fine, keep your secrets. It was a fancy operation. From what they’ve been able to salvage from the Lobelia thus far, it looks like it was a lucrative operation.”

“So lucrative they risked taking over a NUMA vessel just to get their hands on it?”

“One of my friends in the DEA said that the modified cocaine could sell for over five times the normal price of cocaine.” 

Juan steered them back into a conversation about the racing yacht. An energized conversation soon followed about the prices of drugs and the money, covers, and routes needed to smuggle them. 

* * *

As the Albacore pulled into the dock at Santa Catalina and most of the crew disembarked, Eric remained behind, below deck, distracted by the Subvette and some last minute fixes to the propellers. Eric only realized everyone else was leaving when he looked up from the huddle he, White, and Higgins made around one of the engineering tables to ask why the ship had stopped. 

“We’re back already?” Eric asked, catching sight of the Coast Guard facilities they were docked at. 

Jeffrey Olmstead came from one of the ship’s hatches. “Yep. You guys missed the whole trip.”

“Time flies when you’re having fun.” Eric quipped. He caught sight of the heavy backpack slung over one of Jeffrey’s shoulders. “Are you heading out?”

“I hate to cut and run,” Jeffery said. “I’ve got a new assignment and the next flight out is in an hour.”

Eric waved it off. “No worries. I’ve still got to pack my stuff. I got distracted. It was good to see you, Jeffery. Thank you for inviting me.” 

“Are you sure you should be thanking me?” Jeffery inquired with a pained smile. He gestured to the sling Eric still wore. “You’re the one with the fancy new scar.” 

“I told you, it’s fine.” Eric tried to reassure his friend. “This is just like our time in the Navy. We put our lives on the line to protect others.” 

“But we’re not in the Navy any more.” 

“Once a sailor, always a sailor.”

“This isn’t Narnia, Eric.” 

Eric chuckled and Jeffery joined in quickly. Eric and Jeffery bid each other farewell and Eric ran back to his quarters to quickly pack his small duffel bag. He threw his clothes and toiletries into the pack, checked under the bed to make sure nothing was hiding there, and ran top side. 

The main deck was still fairly busy when Eric emerged from the rear stairwell. His sudden appearance quieted the conversation somewhat. Dirk, Dahlgren, Captain Mason, Zavala and Austin were standing around the Subvette. They looked up; Dirk beckoned Eric over with a wave.

“Eric!” Dirk called out in greeting. “Get all your stuff.” 

Eric lifted up the duffel he was carrying in his right hand. “Yeah, all packed. Now all I have to do is call a taxi.”

“Headed back to your ship?”

“Yeah. My leave ended a couple days ago. I was lucky my boss was so understanding.” 

“He didn’t chew you out too much?” Zavala elbowed him in jest. “You looked like you were on the way to the gallows when you had to call him.” 

Eric laughed lightly. “No, it’s not that. He’s a great boss. He just tends to be a bit…”

Eric trailed off, searching for the right word to summarize his and Juan’s relationship. Everyone on the Oregon were closer than normal work colleagues. They lived together, worked together, and would die for each other, if necessary. They were close, closer than family sometimes because they shared so much of their lives with their crew mates. Eric loved his mom and aunt dearly, but they didn’t know anything about the Oregon. There were whole swaths of his life he couldn’t share with them. But everyone on the Oregon understood.

With Juan though there was more, something Eric’s couldn’t find the words for.

“Stern?” Dirk suggested, unaware of Eric’s conflicted musings. 

“Exacting?” Jack gave his own guess. 

Eric shook his head at both guesses. “Overprotective.” The young helmsman admitted at last. 

“I wonder why.” A new, very familiar voice interjected into the conversation. “From my perspective, it seems like it’s completely warranted.” 

Eric froze. Dirk, Zavala, and Dahlgren all saw his expression change but before they could remark on it, Eric turned around slowly, catching sight for the first time of the guest aboard the Albacore.

Pitt noticed his change in attention. “Ah, Eric this is-“

“Juan!” Eric interjected. 

“Eric.” Juan greeted, cool as a cucumber. Chairman Juan Cabrillo in all his glory stood next to Director Pitt, leaning casually on a nearby ship’s railing. 

Behind him, Zavala, Austin, Dirk, and Dahlgren were staring. Pitt was looking from Eric’s shocked ‘Oh Shit’ expression to Juan’s smug one. 

“I take it you know each other.” 

Juan raised an eyebrow at Eric. Eric smiled sheepishly. “Dirk, Jack, meet my overprotective boss, Juan Cabrillo. But Juan, what are you doing here?”

Eric’s boss, his commander, shot him a teasing grin. “Well I heard NUMA was in the area…”

A sneaking suspicion crept over the Oregon’s helmsman. “You didn’t come all this way just to supervise my trip back to Oregon, did you? I can make it back on my own.”

“Without any trouble?” Juan raised an inquiring eyebrow. “Eric, I think you and I are going to have to have a serious conversation about what constitutes trouble. Hijackers and drug runners certainly qualify.”

“Not to mention getting shot.” Dahlgren muttered under his breath to Dirk.

Eric’s heart sunk as Juan picked up in the offhand comment. “You got shot?” His voice was deceptively mild, barely masking the steel underneath.

The younger man looked past Juan’s left shoulder, trying to disguise the fact that he couldn’t meet his boss’ eyes. “Oh, did I forget to mention that?”

Pitt coughed politely to interrupt before Juan could lay into Eric. 

“I take it this is your missing cargo?” Pitt directed his question to Juan. Juan cast a questioning eye at Eric. Eric jerked his head once subtly; he hadn’t told the NUMA crew about his connection to Juan. 

Juan evidently did not feel the same compunction. “Yep this is him. Dirk, meet my helmsman, Eric Stone. Eric’s been with me ever since we poached him from the Navy.”

“Hi.” Eric shifted guiltily from foot to foot.

“Eric was scheduled to be on vacation, after the disaster that was our last shore leave.” Juan explained. “I thought it was possible for him to go a week without finding trouble. Looks like I was wrong.”

“Juan,” Eric said, his face flushing scarlett. “Are you really here just to get me?”

Juan stared pointedly at Eric’s sling then met Eric’s gaze evenly. He didn’t say anything. He just let the silence hang. 

Eric fidgeted, squirmed, then broke. “Look, Juan, I’m sorry I didn’t tell you about my arm, but I’m not sorry about what happened. No one could have predicted the hijackers.” He stood with his shoulders hunched defensively. 

The Chairman didn’t have anything; Eric could read the man’s expression. It clearly said ‘You’re still in trouble’. 

Eric just sighed. “Yes, Juan.” 

“Cheer up,” Juan’s cheerful tone did nothing to mask the danger in those words. “Really, it’s not me you have to answer to. Julia on the other hand.” The older man left the sentence hanging. Eric shivered forebodingly. 

“So this is the job that you won’t leave, Eric. Are you sure? I know we’re not the Corporation, but we still save the world plenty of times.” Zavala ambled up to the conversation. 

“What’s this?” Juan side-eyed Zavala. “Are you trying to poach my helmsman?”

“What’s a little poaching between friends, I always say.” Zavala joked. 

“Suddenly things make much more sense,” Director Pitt murmured to Austin. Captain Mason departed with a polite farewell to Juan and expression of profuse thanks to Eric once again. Dirk, Dahlgren, and Austin each needled Eric. 

“Overprotective, huh,” Dahlgren muttered to Eric. “I see what you mean.” 

While Eric floundered for a response, Juan chuckled. “As I said, I have good reason to be.”

“You have a good crew member there,” Pitt complemented Juan. “Joe’s right. We’d love to have Eric any time he’s ready to retire from your band of pirates.”

Juan relaxed. “I know. However, Eric’s not allowed to leave. His partner in crime would be untenable without him.” 

“Mark’s not that bad.” 

“To you maybe.” Juan shot back. “Now Eric, what trouble did you get yourself in this time?” 

“Nothing we couldn’t handle.” Eric traded satisfied grins with Dirk and Dahlgren. 

“Eric was very helpful,” Zavala continued to needle Juan about stealing Eric. “He picks locks and he’s a crack shot. He waylaid most of the attackers by himself, while his arm was injured. I'm sure he would do great on the Special Assignments team. Gamay and Paul would love him.” 

“Leave Eric and the Chairman alone,” Pitt ordered. “We already have enough trouble magnets on the NUMA payroll as is. I’m not sure we can handle any more.” 

“Sandecker would have your hide.” Austin agreed. 

“Sandecker is often the one who volunteers us for all of our troublesome assignments.” Pitt responded. “However, as I understand it, the Corporation comes by it’s trouble naturally. I wouldn’t want to tempt fate.” 

“You’re just sore my ship is better than yours.” Juan grinned. 

After a few more minutes of good-natured ribbing, the Chairman checked his watch. “We have to head out Stoney. I left Gomez in the chopper at the airport. We don’t want to make him wait too long.” 

“Right,” Eric agreed. 

The Chairman and Eric shook hands all around in farewell. 

“It was good to meet you finally, Mr. Chairman.” Dirk said to Juan. “Eric, keep in touch. If we’re in Hong Kong at the same time, you have to take me to that noodle place you mentioned.”

“Definitely,” Eric agreed. “I look forward to it.” Eric, Jack, and Zavala traded similar goodbyes.

On the other side of the group, Pitt, Austin, and Juan said their own goodbyes, too quietly for Eric to hear. Eric bent down to pick up his duffel but before he could grab it, Juan swooped in and lifted it easily over one shoulder. 

“Juan! I can get it.” Eric tried to reach for his bag. 

“Oh no.” Juan refused. “Not until Julia looks you over.” 

“Dr. Garcia from the USCGC Kennesaw cleared me.” Eric argued futilely. 

“Good for you. However, she’s not my Chief Medical Officer.” Juan led the way down the gangplank, through the shipyard and to a nondescript sedan. The older man unlocked the car and tossed Eric’s duffel in the trunk. 

Eric got in on the passenger side. The car was quiet for a moment as Juan started it up and navigated away from the docks and towards the airport. 

“You really didn’t have to come and get me.” Eric said quietly, much more subdued than before. 

“I know.” Juan responded. “But I wanted to. I was worried. We all were.” 

Eric took a minute to process, touched by the depth of the sentiment. He smiled softly. “Thanks, Juan.” 

“No problem. However, I do have a request for the future. Next time you plan on being anywhere near NUMA on vacation or down time, let me know, so I can plan ahead.”

**Author's Note:**

> I can't believe I wrote over 10,000 words of these canon-typical action/adventure NUMA shenanigans.
> 
> I feel sort of ridiculous writing this, but the idea wouldn't go away until I wrote it down so there you go. My only wish is that just one person finds joy in this story. I know this is a small fandom (and I've written almost half the stories for it) but if one person likes then I will have brought joy to someone else and that is enough.


End file.
